


The Chameleon and The Magpie

by Bluemeany



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Daemons, Alternate Universe - His Dark Materials Fusion, Autistic Julian Bashir, Canon Compliant, Daemons, Episode: s02e22 The Wire, Gen, Less covert in it’s slash than the series, You know all the animals, more subtle than A Stitch in Time, other than
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2019-04-03 19:54:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14003496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluemeany/pseuds/Bluemeany
Summary: Deep Space Nine but everyone has a dæmon: physical manifestations of a persons inner self that take the form of an animal. Which is a little awkward... if you have a past you need to hide. Or a secret you want to keep...A Bashir and Garak "Re-Wired" story, set a little time after The Wire.The dæmons follow most of the rules from His Dark Materials. One, they can change in childhood but fix as an adult. Two, they can't move very far away from their person. And three, touching another person's dæmon is not usually allowed and done only by close family or lovers.





	The Chameleon and The Magpie

****

 

**1\. INT: BASHIR’S QUARTERS, BEDROOM – EARLY MORNING**

JULIAN BASHIR wakes and we see the room through his eyes - the bed, the dresser, the fake plastic plant in the corner. All immediately in sharp focus. All perfectly clear. Down to the grey slivers of Federation paint peeling away from Cardassian walls.

The room has just enough personal effects to add a human touch. Just enough well-placed belongings to distract. No photos, no family mementos: only Kukalaka. The patched-together teddy bear sits on the shelf. On top sits MAGPIE, Bashir’s daemon. She affectionately prunes Kukalaka’s loose threads.

Most daemons sleep alongside, close to, on top of, even wrapped around their beings – human or otherwise. Magpie doesn’t. She sleeps perched on Kukalaka. At a distance.

BASHIR:                Good Morning.

When Julian speaks to Magpie it’s with a slightly less posh accent than the one he uses on other people. An East-London brogue strained through RP. The black and white bird returns his greeting with a friendly squawk.

BASHIR:                Lights.

The computer switches the lights on. Julian gets up and moves to the dresser. He opens the top draw and is faced with a jumble of _things_ – coins and keys and com badges and buttons and Dabo chips. Bashir noisily searches through. This is Magpie’s collection. Her odds and ends. Her hoard of stolen mathoms, cast-offs and lost things.  

Julian can’t find what he’s looking for. Magpie flies to “assist” him. She always wants to know what’s going on. Always wants to be helpful. Perched on the edge of the draw, she pushes items around with her beak.

BASHIR:                _(found it)_ Here we go.

His razor. Foaming his face, Julian looks in the mirror and starts to shave. Magpie buzzes about him, interested in what he is doing, why he is doing it. Then, interested in the razor, how it works. Julian starts to recite to keep her entertained.

BASHIR:                “One for sorrow, two for joy, three for a girl, four for a boy…”

This works. It’s her favourite rhyme. It’s about her. She twitters along with the words and hops on to the dresser, interested now in the mirror.

BASHIR:                “Five for silver, six for gold, seven for - ”

Magpie studies her own reflection in the glass. Bashir stops shaving as his heart skips a beat. Seven is for a secret, never to be told.

Most daemons can’t recognise themselves in mirrors. Then again, most daemons can’t use the door chimes. Or work out how to drop pebbles into the glasses in Quark’s to get at the beer dregs. She’s too clever.

She gives them away. 

BASHIR:                  _(gently warning)_ Magpie.

Lost in curiosity, Magpie continues to investigate her reflection fanning open her black and white feathers. Julian watches her, alarmed. She doesn’t know how to hide what she is. But she’s calm right now. And still. And close. He could almost…

Julian starts to stretch out his hand toward her. Daring himself to reach, closer and closer… just half an inch away now. He hovers there a beat. He can almost touch her… almost…

Breaking away, Magpie flies off with a squawk. Trying to hide his feelings, Julian shuts the draw.

**2\. INT: BASHIR’S QUARTERS, LIVING ROOM – EARLY MORNING**

Bashir is dressed now, in uniform. Clean-shaven, he smooths the blue and black fabric into place. Fixes his com badge. It’s a good image. It tells everyone everything they need to know: young; bright; Federation; doctor. Most people are happy to get by on that, no follow-up questions. It’s what they expect to see, what they want to see.

Magpie swoops and dives around him, chattering her excitement. Bashir crosses to just in front of the door. Deep breath. He’s taking a moment to pull himself together.

BASHIR:                 Just blend in Julian. Just nice, normal Bashir.

Julian hits the door chime. It opens. Magpie flies through and away down the corridor: Bashir rubs his temple.  He fixes a cheerful smile. And the doctor steps out into his day.

**3\. INT: THE REPLIMAT - LUNCHTIME**

A table for two, looking out over the promenade. GARAK is waiting for the doctor. Beside him on a wooden stand sits NESTOR – a large, Cardassian Chameleon. Currently a shade of mottled green-pink, the daemon blends into the Replimat’s questionable décor.

NOG stands at the table in a waiter’s apron with a PADD in hand. Ostensibly taking Garak’s order, he’s being there for the last fifteen minutes.

GARAK:                 If you are looking for reading material may I, again, point you toward _The Never Ending Sacrifice_ -

NOG:                    You are not listening. I don’t want Cardassian literature.

Nog’s daemon RITTA paces impatiently in the form of a young snow leopard. Nestor casually changes his skin to match her spots.

NOG:                     I want to learn about hu-man culture.

Garak’s regards Nog and then Ritta with curiosity. The leopard has a hungry look about her.

All children’s daemons switch in and out of shapes, settling on one only when they reach adulthood. Nog’s fixed just a few weeks ago and Garak studies her interesting new form. The boy’s father has a lumbering Ferengi duck: his uncle, an incessant capuchin monkey. Now just where did a leopard come from?

Whilst Garak is focused on Nog, Nestor watches their surroundings. Chameleon eyes swivel 360 degrees: observing the café, noting the other customers, their daemons, the exits, what’s going on behind Garak’s back.

On the far table the O’Brien family are having lunch. MOLLY’s daemon LUCY, currently in the form of a tarantula, is crawling all over the Chief. Under his seat CARA is beavering away, gnawing a small block of wood into a toy spitfire. KEIKO’s swallow hovers less than a meter above her head.

Nestor widens his surveillance to the promenade. There’s a lot to observe. Its lunchtime and it’s busy: a menagerie of aliens and their strange animals.

There’s MAJOR KIRA with her red Bajoran puma. Laughing with LIEUTENANT DAX and DEE her speckled blue kangaroo. And there goes COMMANDER SISKO striding to the turbo lift accompanied by SHIVA the lioness. Inside Quarks, the large shape of MORN can be seen, his limpet NORM prised to the bar. At the doorway stands ODO holding his starfish NERI in a jar. Most creatures have to stay close to their daemons. Even shapeshifters it would seem…

But then there’s Bashir. Striding across the promenade with only partial control of his limbs and no control of his daemon. Barely visible in the rafters far above, Magpie swoops and caws and goes wherever she pleases.

Nestor’s left eye continues to scan the room, but the right… the right eye stills, blinks once and totally fixes on Julian. Noting his reactions, the details. How (when he thinks no one is looking) the doctor rubs his temple as if fighting off a headache.

NOG:                     Of all the hu-man books Dr Bashir has lent you, there must be something worth reading.

GARAK:                 Actually…

Garak reaches into a patterned tailor’s bag as Bashir approaches. He takes out a book and raises his voice to make sure the doctor can hear.

GARAK:                  _(to Nog)_   Now if you _really_ want to know about humankind, this is the only thing you need to read.

Nog looks at the cover.

NOG:                      _The Prince_ by Mach-mach…ma-

GARAK:                 Machiavelli. I think you’ll find he had the right idea.

Bashir throws Garak an exasperated look and sits down. The Cardassian smiles pleasantly. Nog hands Julian a menu.

GARAK:                 Ah Doctor. And how are you today?

BASHIR:                 Famished. Have you ordered?

GARAK:                  _(to Nog)_ Iotian Linguini.

Bashir hands Nog back the menu without opening it.

BASHIR:                 I’ll have the same.

Nog exits, book in hand. Ritta follows behind and Garak and Bashir are left alone to their weekly appointment. Nestor shifts to his most impressive hue: iris purple fringed in brilliant yellow. Garak waits, like a good poker player waits, for Bashir to fill the silence. To take the bait. As usual, the doctor obliges.

BASHIR:                  _(dismayed)_ Machiavelli...

GARAK:                 A remarkable clear thinker, wouldn’t you agree?

BASHIR:                 No!

GARAK:                  _(mock innocent)_ No?

BASHIR:                 That’s the one you went for? That’s the one that gets your approval? Not Shakespeare? Capote? Mary Shelley? Not Dickens or                                    Bentham or Locke…  

The Caradassian reacts to each name in turn with a variety of expressions ranging from infuriating ambivalence to outright disdain.   

BASHIR:                  _(wound up now)_ Bradbury!? Farah? Harper Lee-

Magpie swoops in. With all the subtly of a javelin. _Typical_. She always does fly down for _Garak_. She hops by the salt shaker, proudly gripping a laser spanner in her beak.

BASHIR:                  Oh no. Not again. _(hushed)_ The Chief is going murder me. Come on – give it here.

He tries to prise it from her. Pulling away from him, the bird grips even tighter to her ill-gotten gains.

BASHIR:                  _(calmly)_ Magpie. ( _not calmly_ ) Magpie! Give me the bloody spanner. Magpie…

A brief struggle ensues. Magpie wins, easily and patters away across the table to Garak. She drops the spanner in front of him and waits expectantly. The Cardassian picks it up.

GARAK:                   Why, thank you Magpie. Such a thoughtful bird.

BASHIR:                  _(to Magpie)_ Crawler.

Garak holds out his hand and waits. A beat, then Magpie moves closer and rubs her feathers up against his fingers. The briefest flicker of resentment moves across Julian’s face. He hides it almost instantly. Almost. Garak doesn’t notice. Nestor does. He turns a shade of vibrant blue out of sheer curiosity.

Big mistake: Magpie’s _attention_ has been attracted. She takes a careering hop toward the chameleon and lands beside him on his perch. Nestor’s eyes dart frantically in panic. He tries to morph into the stark black and white contrast of her patterning. He fails, blinks… 

And turns totally white. The colour change is instant: like iodide dropped in acid. Another blink and he turns totally **black**. Then totally white again. Then **black**. White. **Black.** White…

Garak makes a valiant attempt to get the conversation back on track.

GARAK:                    I was surprised to find Machiavelli write he found “a double pleasure in deceiving the deceivers”. Such a Cardassian notion…

BASHIR:                   Er… Garak…

 **Black** , white, **black** , white…

GARAK:                    _(aware but trying to ignore it)_ I had no idea some humans felt the same way.

The chameleon continues to glitch between white and **black**. Concerned, Magpie hops a little closer. This only makes things worse.

GARAK:                   And his understanding of the impact of necessity on -

This always happens when Magpie get too close. She confuses him. Forced to choose between **all black** or all white, Nestor ping-pongs between the two. He _hates_ this.

BASHIR:                    _(pointing)_ He’s doing the… Garak, Nestor is doing the _thing_ again.

GARAK:                   ( _resigning_ ) Yes I am aware of that Doctor.

With a sigh, Garak plucks Nestor off his perch and places him on his shoulder. Away from Magpie, the chameleon settles and camouflages into the yellow-green of the Cardassian’s suit.

BASHIR:                   Is he alright?

Nestor shudders.

GARAK:                   Perfectly.

The Iotian linguine arrives. Immediately, Magpie is beside Bashir’s plate, gobbling up long strings of pasta.

GARAK:                   A rather tiring morning showing customers our wide selection of fabric patterns.

Garak’s attention is on Nestor. He gives him a reassuring rub. Bashir is watching Magpie on the table - within arm’s reach.

GARAK:                   It wears him out a little. There’s a shirt of Jake Sisko’s that has a very similar effect on him.

Julian holds his hand close to her. Mirroring Garak’s gesture from before, he waits.

Magpie flies off. Bashir turns his hand movement into reaching for his fork. Nestor notes - not for the first time – the doctor cringe momentarily in pain as Magpie swoops away.    

** 4\. INT - BASHIR’S QUARTERS, LIVING ROOM - LATE **

Under a desk lamp, Bashir operates on Kukalaka. His last patient at the end of a very long day. Stuffing is leaking through a split on the bear’s face. The doctor is doing his best to hold him together.

It’s not easy. Kukalaka was ragged even when he was a child. His mother had tried to throw him out. But Jules wouldn’t have it then. And Julian won’t have it now. Over the years he’s sewn, stitched, patched and repaired every square inch of that bear.

Until he can’t escape the feeling that maybe there’s not much of the original left.

Sat on the table - just over an arms-length away – Magpie watches Bashir. He’s almost finished stitching the tear. It’s a delicate operation and he’s tired. Julian puts slightly too much pressure on Kukalaka’s right eye.

It breaks.

BASHIR:                Damn.

Magpie bursts into distress. Flapping around the room in a storm of alarm, she caws incessantly.  

BASHIR:                 ( _tired, bitter_ ) That’s just…

Magpie’s din fills the room. It’s taking its toll on Bashir, fraying his temper. He throws the pieces of the broken eye onto the table.

BASHIR:                 All right! All right! I’m _trying_. Okay? I’m trying to hold _him_ – hold _us_ together!

But she only becomes more frantic. Swooping low across the desk, she knocks a vase with a glancing blow. It hits the ground and shatters.

BASHIR:                 Magpie!

Bashir is angry: with himself, with her, with a lot of things. He’s shouting now as she circles around him in a panic. He’s shouting with clear traces of a recognisable East London accent breaking through…  

BASHIR:                 Stop! Magpie! **Stop**! Just stop!  For Christ’s sake! **What the hell is wrong with you**?!

A beat. Julian stops himself. His voice is too familiar. Too much like his father’s.

BASHIR:                  _(urgent)_ Magpie-

The door chimes and opens. A split second later and Garak is inside, making himself hard to evict. Nestor sits on his shoulder. They both turn as Magpie bolts for the open door. She flees down the corridor, a tornado of wings and noise. The Cardassian moves to follow her.

BASHIR:                No, let her go.

Bashir moves to the sofa and sits in despair. He suddenly holds his brow. As Magpie moves further away from him, the pain is getting worse. Nestor turns blue.

GARAK:                 Doctor…

BASHIR:                 ( _diverting)_ That  was a locked door.

Garak’s eyes flick to the broken vase on the floor.

GARAK:                 I seem to remember you did a similar thing to me not too long ago.

BASHIR:                 That was different.

GARAK:                 ( _beat_ ) Was it?

Bashir doesn’t respond. He knows he’s been caught out. Garak advances.

GARAK:                 She _can_ fly further than other daemons. But it still hurts: doesn’t it?

The Cardassian pauses a moment as another piece of the doctor’s puzzle drops into place…

GARAK:                  _That’s_ why you’re here. Why you chose _this_ posting. On a station, there’s only so far she can go.  

Hit by another stab of pain, Julian can’t help but wince. As he struggles to supress his reaction, Garak moves to join him on the sofa. In the mostly empty room, they sit a moment in silence. Bashir can't look him in the eye.

BASHIR:                I can’t tell anyone. 

GARAK:                You can tell me.

The Cardassian waits for the doctor to speak. This young doctor. Who can think just a bit too fast. Who can see objects just a little too far away. Who focuses the conversation on _you_ just a little too readily. Garak is the son of Enabran Tain, the man who can glean information even from an empty space. He never needed concrete details.

BASHIR:                We’re not like... the others. I’m not-

He breaks off.

GARAK:                 I know.

Julian stands, pacing around the room in distress.

BASHIR:                 She gives us away. She can’t hide what she is. There are so many people on the station. So many eyes watching. And cameras                                   and comm badges and _lights_ and **-**

On command, the lights COME UP FULL. Bashir stops himself abruptly. The Computer being helpful. Always on an open channel. Ready to be called.

Listening in.

BASHIR:                 _(More careful)_ There was - an accident. I woke up in the hospital… and there she was. Fixed. I didn’t recognise her at first…                                     couldn’t work out what a real Magpie was doing surrounded by aliens so far from home.

Nestor alters colour, concealing himself in the yellow-green of Garak’s suit.  

BASHIR:                Before then she had another name. And different shapes that she used to shimmer in and out of… a thousand times a day. Not                                like the daemons of the other children, but constantly. Like a whirlwind. A kaleidoscope of colour.

He smiles as he remembers her storm of light and colours and forms. Dancing all the time, like northern lights across an arctic sky. Swirling around a little boy making him happy. Calm. Safe.

Julian’s smile fades.

It’s Jules memory. Not his. Inherited like Kukalaka. Like everything else. Like Magpie.

BASHIR:                She had another name. I know she did. But I can’t remember what it was. ( _hard_ ) She’s Jules's. She wants him back. And I’m not                                  him. That’s why I can’t touch her. That’s why she can fly away.  

                            I try to be what she wants… _who_ she wants. But I don’t remember. Don’t know what I’m aiming for. There’s only pieces of him                                 left and I can’t work it out – what belongs, what doesn’t.

He sits back down to face Garak. The Cardassian studies the lost expression on the doctor’s face.

BASHIR:                I don’t know who I’m trying to save.

A pause. Garak is making a decision. There’s a secret he and Nestor would rather not share. It reveals too much. About him. About Elim. A little boy locked in the dark letting his father mould him; turning himself into a mirror image. All for the memory of one day in the sun.

GARAK:                 Give me your hand.

BASHIR:                _(already reaching out as he asks)_ Why?

Garak turns over his palm and deposits Nestor in it.

BASHIR:                Garak, what are you-

But the chameleon has already changed. Nestor camouflages into Julian in a heartbeat.

He burns a confusion of colour – reds, purples, greens, oranges, blues… every one moving, every one dancing across his skin. A shimmering chaos of patterns and shapes like northern lights across an arctic sky.

Bashir watches in wonder.

GARAK:                 _(gently)_   Magpie isn’t the one who gives you away.

**5\. INT: BASHIR’S QUARTERS, LIVING ROOM – EARLY MORNING**

Bashir sleeps on the sofa, his arm outstretched. Nestor is still sat in his palm and still strobes in iridescent colour. Garak is asleep in a nearby chair - returning the night the doctor spent with him not too long ago.  

The sound of the chime and the door swooshing open. A few seconds later, Magpie lands with a soft pat on the sofa: next to the sleeping Nestor in Julian's hand.

She quietly watches the chameleon warble her old colours.

Julian wakes. We see Magpie through his eyes: close-up her black feathers take on an altogether more colourful hue. There’s a purple-blue iridescent sheen to her wing and a green gloss to her tail.

BASHIR:                ( _hushed_ ) Good Morning.

She looks at him. Then at the shimmering Nestor in his palm. Then back at him.

Magpie twitters to the desk. Moving to follow her, Julian gently places Nestor on the sofa. Even in his sleep he blends into the hideous patterned grey of Starfleet furnishings. Kukalaka is still laid on the desk – still minus his eye. The bead beside him is broken into five pieces. Magpie hops around the bear expectantly.

Julian sits down. His first patient of the day.

He picks up the pieces and tries to arrange them in a way he can begin to glue them back together. A nigh on impossible task… but what kind of doctor would he be if he gave up on a patient?

BASHIR:                ( _whispered, answering himself)_ The kind that kill mockingbirds.

It’s a private answer. A reminder of a choice he made long ago. He won’t ever be Richard Bashir. He won’t ever be Khan. And he won’t be the doctor who got rid of a little boy who couldn’t understand.

A soft thud. Magpie is back on the desk. She has a button in her mouth.

BASHIR:                Where did you-?

He glances at the sleeping Garak. The button matches those on his jacket. Even at this distance, Julian’s eyes can see one is missing. 

BASHIR:                I wish you wouldn’t steal from assassins. You get their things, I get their phaser bolt: right in the back. He was in the Obsidian                                  Order you know?

Magpie drops the button on the desk in front of him. Bashir pauses, unsure if it’s for him. She nudges it toward his hand. He picks it up. She flits over to Kukalaka. And waits. Julian gets the idea.

BASHIR:                Are you sure?

She twitters and picks up the needle in her beak. Bashir props up the bear and puts the button in the place of his eye.

BASHIR:                Needle.

Assisting her doctor, Magpie passes him the needle. He threads it. Then begins to stitch. A few moments pass. Magpie moves closer, concerned.

But it’s a quick operation and Bashir is nearly done already. He extends out the loose thread. Looking around on the desk, he searches for the-

BASHIR:                Scissors?

The bird shuffles closer and cuts the loose thread with her beak.

BASHIR:                Thank you.

Julian props up the bear and gestures with an outreached hand.

BASHIR:                There. Good as new. Do you approve?

A beat, then Magpie moves closer and rubs up against his fingertips.

Julian freezes in panic. He blinks. But she still there. Calming a little, he starts to stroke her feathers. A moment longer. She doesn’t fly away.

GARAK:                 _(O.S)_ I have to say Doctor-

Both human and daemon jump at the sound of Garak waking up. They break away from one another.

GARAK:                 - the comfort of Federation furniture leaves a lot to be desired.

BASHIR:                Good morning Garak.

The Cardassian smooths down his crumpled suit.

GARAK:                 Oh how unfortunate. I seem to have lost of button.

He starts looking on the floor around him. With haste, Bashir picks up Kukalaka and moves into the bedroom. Magpie follows.

GARAK:                 _(O.S - still searching)_ Not a very good advertisement for my skills as a tailor.

Julian place the bear back on his shelf. He steps back and takes a moment to admire his new appearance. His daemon lands on top of Kukalaka’s head. Magpie prunes the replacement eye affectionately.

** END **


End file.
